


The Sticking Place

by reine_des_corbeaux



Category: The Favourite (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted assassination, Cousin Incest, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/pseuds/reine_des_corbeaux
Summary: Sarah Churchill remains at court, despite the ascendancy of Abigail's star.





	The Sticking Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbitrarily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts).

It started with a strange, bitter taste in her wine. By the time she’d found herself doubled over and retching, Sarah felt only a hot, blistering rage. She was furious at herself, furious at Anne, and most of all furious at Abigail Masham and her audacity. Sarah Churchill weathered many things with grace and poise, but there were some things that were a bridge too far even for her. 

The loss of status and of Anne’s favor had been one thing, but a second poisoning, likely engineered by the same person as the first, was quite another. Especially when it was a second poisoning, not just another ignominy heaped upon her as she mouldered away at court, tittered at by all she passed. Remaining here was torture, and she suspected that was why Abigail allowed her to remain so close to Anne. Here, all the court could sneer at a favourite fallen low, and haughty, proud Abigail could join the sneering at her pleasure when wasn’t too busy flaunting her proximity to the Queen. The whole of the situation hurt, for a variety of reasons. Sarah wasn’t used to being sneered at. She, and not these ignorant fools, was the one who did the sneering. Or she had been, until Abigail and her damnable herbs. She’d been writing another letter before she’d taken sick, and now, well again, Sarah reread it. What had seemed so heartfelt then now seemed a pathetic, snivelling thing she was sure she could never send to Anne. Even though she was still at court, she rarely saw the Queen, unless Abigail wished to mock her diminished state. Abigail herself was more accessible, even though she lived in Sarah’s old rooms and had her old place at Anne’s side. She seemed to enjoy smearing her good fortune in Sarah’s face with the occasional taunting visit, or perhaps, a touch of poison in a drink or dish of food. 

Standing from her writing table, Sarah marched into the mostly deserted hallway, furious, searching for a maid or a footman. They were always insufficient in this part of the palace, and any of them that might pass by seemed blown by one of the chilling drafts, rumpled and underdressed. Sarah despised the inconvenience of it, the sheer lack of gentility Anne showed in this inward exile. She suspected that too was Abigail’s fault, that her cousin wished to torment her by keeping her close and out of reach. 

At length, she came upon a footman, a spotty sort of creature with a weedy, immature look to him. He was not elegant or imposing, but he would do well enough for her purposes. 

“I want you to go to Abigail Masham and tell her that I desire to speak with her. In fact, I shall follow you myself. I don’t trust her not to turn you away.” 

***

She bumped into Abigail quite by chance in a deserted hallway, their skirts rustling past each other. There was something foreboding in the whispers of rustling silk in the dark. Quick as breathing, Sarah grasped at Abigail’s hand. When she caught hold of it, she dug her fingers, hoping to leave bruises. 

“You would have killed me if I’d not forgotten my tea yesterday. Care to explain? I thought we’d determined that you can’t kill me so easily.” 

Abigail jutted out her chin, trying to look defiant, but her lower lip wobbled a little, almost as if she were afraid. _Good, _Sarah thought. _Let her fear me. Let her fear what I could do to her, if I wanted. _For a moment, she felt as though they were nothing but mistress and maid, favourite and scullion once again. 

Abigail laughed, pretty and insincere, echoing in the empty hallway. 

“So,” she said, “you have been looking for me. I hardly remembered you were even at court any longer..” 

“You remembered me enough to poison me,” Sarah whispered, leaning in close to Abigail’s face. 

Abigail pulled back, ever so slightly. Her smile looked weaker, as though it was slipping from her face, and Sarah could not help imagining that face contorted in pain. 

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You know damn well, you little bitch.” 

Abigail laughed again, and tried to twist her hand away, but Sarah still gripped it tightly. Weakened though she was after the poisoning, after the shunning by the rest of the court, she was still strong enough to shove Abigail back towards the wall. Her back hit against it with a satisfyingly heavy thump, and Sarah loomed over her. 

“You understand, don’t you,” she said, “what I could do to you if I wished it?” 

There was a hunger in Abigail’s smile now, and an anger too. 

“Oh, yes,” she said. “But I also know what I could do to you. And it’s a lot more than you now, considering which one of us has Anne’s ear now.” 

Sarah kissed her to shut her up. 

Almost immediately, Abigail pushed her away, and Sarah stumbled back. Just as soon as Abigail tried to leave in a furious whirl of skirts, Sarah struck again and quickly had her hand about Abigail’s wrist, drawing her back in. Abigail’s cheeks were becomingly red, but her eyes were stormy. 

“Oh? Is that how you like it?” Sarah asked, her tone arch. “I think we could make arrangements, as soon as we’ve found a proper room.” 

Abigail laughed. 

“A proper room? Where? Yours are far too drafty, and, well, I’m not entirely certain it would be appropriate for me to entertain you in mine.” 

Sarah tried very hard to keep herself in a state of mannered poise. 

“We shall have to find one,” she hissed. “One appropriate for would-be assassins and for the disgraced.” 

***

In the end, they wound up in a sort of closet. It was a dusty, neglected room behind a hidden door, with an old-fashioned bed shoved beneath one grimed window. Sarah fancied she could hear the chattering of mice, and tried not to look too closely at the tattered bedspread when she shoved Abigail down upon it. Divesting her of her clothing proved somewhat difficult, and Abigail kicked at her, still smiling her infuriating cat-like smile. 

“You wouldn’t dare hurt me,” she said. “Not now.” 

Lying there in her undergarments, she looked both debauched and innocent, and Sarah couldn’t stand it. She touched Abigail, gently above the collar of her chemise. 

“I want,” Sarah said, “to ruin you. I have now for months.” 

Abigail laughed. 

“And yet,” she replied, “I’ve already ruined _you._.” 

That was what finally did it, what finally sent Sarah reaching between Abigail’s legs and peeling away her drawers. Her fingers were hasty, shaking with rage as they probed at the wetness there, trying to find the most sensitive places and draw out any noise she could. Abigail, meanwhile, managed to get her arms about Sarah’s neck, to draw her down, to bite at her lips. 

“You’ll never ruin me,” she told Sarah between kisses. “I have the ear of the Queen.” 

“And I have your body. And in that way, I have the Queen’s desires.” 

“You’ve lost. Give up already.” 

In response, Sarah did nothing. She continued to delve, to draw out breathy moans from Abigail, to take her pleasure by stealing from the Queen. 

***

Sarah left Abigail a shuddering mess in the mouse-infested chamber, lying exhausted upon the dingy mattress. She walked alone through the shadowed corridors, finally knowing exactly what sort of letter she needed to write. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! I absolutely adore this movie and this particular ship, and I had a great time writing for you.   
Title is from William Shakespeare's _Macbeth_.


End file.
